


Watching Him Fall

by Areiton



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 22:41:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9463526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: The first time he fell in love, he was hungover, beat up, and pissed off.Five times James Kirk fell in love. And the one time Spock did.





	

.0

 

_ Jim Kirk is a lot of things. He's a playboy and a genius, and a little more broken than he wants to admit. He's confidant  (except when he's not) and brash, funny and rude and insensitive, and surprisingly gentle when the situation calls for it.  _

_ And, something Spock sometimes wonders if anyone has ever noticed, he loves. Deeply.  _

_ The Captain, he discovers, falls quickly into love and when he chooses it, very little can sway him from the object of his affection.  _

 

I.

  
_ Her _ .  


 

 

The first time he fell in love, he was hungover, beat up, and pissed off. His face throbbed from the beating he took in the bar the night before, a fight he only remembers in flashes of pain and annoyed dark eyes. Even the talk from that old Captain is a blurr. Everything is still a little fuzzy, but as the alcohol fades from his system, the pain comes into focus with shocking clarity. 

One day, he's gonna figure out that getting drunk doesn’t actually solve anything. Usually it just makes new and more interesting problems. 

The shipyard is gleaming in the predawn darkness, and that’s what stops him.  _ She _ stops him. 

He falls so hard, so fast, it takes him years to realize it was this moment that did it. 

She looks as broken as he feels. There’s beauty there, sure. The hint of graceful curves and dirty sexy lines, the power promised in her nacelles and come hither tease of her disk, the sweet twist of her hull. She’s all beauty and coiled power, broken open and exposed, still waiting to find her wings, and he  _ wants _ her.

She looked as broken as he felt, and she was a promise of something  _ better _ . 

He stared at the ship, at the exposed insides they were still piecing together. At the way she sat high and proud, even when she was held down. 

They both seemed like fish out of water, flightless birds, creatures caught in a place that never fit right. 

He laughs, soft, and shakes his head. Still drunk, and definitely maudlin, but god, he gets it. Or maybe. Maybe he doesn’t get  _ it _ . Maybe he just gets  _ her. _

She gleams down at him and reaches for the stars and he hears that old bastard’s words again.

_ I dare you to do better. _

Captain of the ‘fleet. Could do worse than that, and god knows he’s ready to get the fuck outta Iowa. He glances at the  _ Enterprise  _ again.

She’d be ready in few years, and it was that, more than Pike. 

Something as beautiful as her, put together broken pieces that somehow made something gorgeous and  _ whole.  _ If something like her could fly, then maybe he could. Maybe he could be good enough to fly with her. 

He sat on his motorcycle and watched her in the early morning, until he had to move or he’d be late, miss the shuttle, miss  _ her _ . 

And when the sun was fully risen and the choice was made, he gave the love of his life, the ship that would change  _ everything _ and give him a home one final look, before he left her, broken, to go put himself together. 

 

 

II.

**Him.**

 

The second time Kirk fell in love, he knew it was coming.

He watched it happen and didn't do a damn thing to stop it. He knew it was self destructive.and just in case he forgot, there was Bones to remind him and call him an idiot.

He was.

Even as it happened, he knew he was being an idiot.

His name was Gary Mitchell.

The first time Kirk mentioned him, it was because he was annoyed. Mitchell had the high score in their applied thermodynamics class. Kirk, used to being the brightest mind in any room and underplaying his brilliance, sulked for three days before Bones kicked him out of their dorm and told him to do something about it.

He went to Mitchell to discuss an upcoming essay and somehow--he thinks about it sometimes, when he's drunk and alone, his cock hard and aching and he feels the need to be punished and even years later he's not sure  _ how _ it happened--ended up in Mitchell's bed, biting curses into the sheets while Mitchell moved inside him.

When he came, it was with Mitchell's hand too hard on his cock and his laughter in Kirk's ear and it was the way their relationship would always go.

From the very beginning, Kirk knew it was a bad idea.  Mitchell was two years older, handsome and cruel and he dug under Kirk's skin and wouldn't leave.

The worst part was that Kirk didn't even  _ want  _ him to leave.  

Kirk was one of the brightest minds in the Academy, and had one of the most demanding tracks--he was determined  to graduate in three years if only to rub it in Pike’s face--and he was fucking  _ lonely. _

When he wasn't studying, he was driven by an intense fight or fuck urge that made him far more enemies than it did friends. Sometimes Kirk thought this--the Academy--was the worst idea he'd ever had, and then Bones would kick him and bitch for him to pick up his shit and he'd remember that even if the course load killed him, he'd made a best friend who'd never let it stick.

He studied and he went to classes and he smiled at the pretty girls he'd fuck later and fight with the boys he didn't fuck.

He was falling apart and so damn lonely it actually ached in his gut at night, when Bones was sleeping and nightmares kept him awake.

He hid it well. Smiled, all grace under pressure and devil may care. Bones told him, often and acerbically, that he was insane and on his way to an early mental breakdown.

But Kirk  _ did _ excel under the pressure. Where midterms at the Academy left most cadets a strung out mess, Kirk seemed to flourish, his manic energy narrowing and focusing into a deadly calm.

It was that calm poise that made Pike sure he'd be an amazing Captain.

It was that calm poise that caught Mitchell’s eye and almost destroyed Kirk, because Mitchell took pleasure in taking things apart, in watching them break, for no reason at all. Because it amused him.

And Kirk was just lonely enough to let it happen.

Kirk  _ knew  _ he was being seduced. He had seduced enough men and women in his time to know exactly what Mitchell was up to, even if he was unorthodox about it. It was fantastic sex in empty classrooms, and insults when Mitchell saw him in public. Study sessions where they fought more than they studied that ended, inevitably, in Mitchell’s bed. He pursued Kirk just enough to get his attention, and then he went quiet and broody, distant, captivating Kirk’s attention and ensuring it stayed exactly where he wanted it. 

Mitchell intrigued the other man almost effortlessly, coaxed Kirk out where he was usually to focused to bother, seduced him when Kirk was accustomed to being the seducer. 

He knew it was happening. That he was losing focus, that his grades were dropping. That he pushing away his friends, isolating himself in the tiny off campus apartment that Mitchell rented. He knew that Pike was concerned and that he was being an idiot and he.

Didn't.

Care.

Mitchell was a drug, and Kirk was watching himself be destroyed and he loved it.

He loved the way those strange silver eyes lit up when Kirk was sprawled under him, loved the way Mitchell got jealous and possessive when he talked about Bones, or spent too much time studying. He loved that when they left the apartment, Mitchell never strayed far, and kept  _ touching  _ him, a proprietary claim that made Kirk feel  _ wanted. _

He even loved the bruises Mitchell left, the ones that were from rough sex and came with Mitchell, his voice harsh and eclipsing everything in Kirk's world as he spilled inside Kirk, grating out, “ _ Mine _ .”

He always laughed, when Kirk came, sobbing and reaching for the other man, riding that wave of possession.

He laughed at Kirk a lot. When he was tired or having an allergic reaction, when he was drunk and bleeding from a fight, when he was late for class and missing shit, and two seconds from panic.

He laughed, cruel and mocking and rage would build in Kirk, choking him for a split second before the laughter cut off and Mitchell soothed him with help and a kiss and Kirk forgot, for a little while, how messed up he really was.

Because Kirk  _ knew _ it was fucked up.

He was just too goddamned happy he  _ belonged _ , that someone  _ wanted _ him, to care.

No one had wanted him since Tarsus IV, when he came home a mess of anger and resentment and need.

He knew it would end bad. He knew the first time Mitchell smiled, sharp and hungry, at him over that damn essay, that it would go bad. Had told himself to walk away and then tumbled into bed with him.

He threw himself headlong off the cliff of love, and didn't care about the way it would break him.

It did. Of course it did.

It wasn't the end Kirk expected--the one that ended with him kicked out of the Academy for subpar grades or hospitalized because sometimes the bruises Mitchell left weren't from sex, they were from simple anger.

(Those nights were few and far between and Kirk could see them coming in Mitchell's coldness and the gleam in his eyes and he always fought back, but it never mattered much. Mitchell fought dirty and had no limits. Kirk didn't want to hurt Mitchell. Mitchell thrived on hurting Kirk.)

It wasn't anything that dramatic in the end. It was ordinary and expected and  _ life.  _ He thought it might have been easier if they--he--had crashed and burned instead.

It happened on a normal afternoon. He was sitting on Mitchell’s couch, struggling to finish studying before Mitchell arrived and demanded his attention when the older man barreled into the apartment, bright with excitement. Kirk paused in the middle of biting an apple and knew that things were going to change.

It didn't hurt yet, but it would.

“I've been stationed on the USS  _ Farragut.” _

Kirk watched him pack, and a few days later, watched him leave, stolen away by duty and adventure and the stars.

He was right. It hurt like hell.

He spent a week in bed, depressed and snapping when Bones tried to talk to him. Spent a month sleeping and drinking and ignoring his classes, while Bones tried everything to drag Kirk out of his depression.

It was only when he was on the verge of failing completely, when Pike took Bones aside and let him know just how close Kirk was to losing everything, that Bones said, glaring from the door of his tiny bedroom,, “He's gone. But not everyone left you and if you fail because of that manipulative bastard, I'll kick your ass. You are  _ not  _ leaving me here alone.”

Kirk didn’t respond and Bones stalked from the room, muttering to himself.

Some days--the days he didn't want to kiss the man for always being there--Kirk really hated his best friend.

But the next morning, Kirk was awake, clean shaven and dressed, sitting at the table in their cramped little dorm room, as if he had never left, studying his xenoculture text while he waited for Bones.

 

 

III. 

**The Black.**

 

The third time the Captain falls in love, the Commander watches it happen. 

They've been on the  _ Enterprise  _ for a week, and this is the first time either has had a chance to breathe. There is, for one moment, nowhere for the Captain and Commander to be. There is nothing to report, nothing to count, nothing to approve, no one injured or shifts to arrange. There is only time and silence between them on the observation deck, the whole of their mission stretched before them, and the Captain staring out the viewfinder, into the vast empty. 

“It's beautiful, isn't it?” the Captain says and the Commander stirs slightly. He redirects his attention to the young man at his side and again wonders how they came to this place. 

In the long course of his life and the careful plans he has followed, he never accounted for someone like the Captain. 

He's staring out at space, a dreamy smile on his face as he leans against the viewfinder, his forehead pressed to it. Like this, the Captain appears almost childlike, all of that vaunted strength and cunning stripped away to reveal little boy wonder, awe that is almost too vulnerable to see.

It is, the Commander reflects, a very private thing, to watch another being falling in love. 

“It's just. Anything can happen, here. None of the past matters because in space, anything is possible. All is forgiven,” the Captain says, like he is considering all he has done that needs to be forgiven. 

That thought is utterly illogical and there is an instinctive urge to tell the Captain that. Instead, he says, like an offering, “My mother watched the stars. They’re different, on Vulcan, and she was fascinated by those differences.”

The Captain twists his head and grins and it feels like an invitation and he feels an irrational burst of pleasure. It warms him as the Captain says,  “I used to sit on the rooftop, at home, and watch them. Dream of all the things I'd do here. It always felt like destiny.” 

The Captain turns his gaze back to the stars and the Commander does the same. 

“On Earth, our earliest heroes lived in the stars. I used to read their stories and find them in the sky and wonder if I'd do anything like they did,” the Captain muses. He lifts a finger and traces a pattern, connecting the stars. It is fanciful and illogical and the Commander’s heart squeezes as he watches, an emotional, yet undeniable reaction.

He wants to remind the Captain that he has surpassed those mythological figures of old. But he stays silent, reluctant to disturb the quiet peace that surrounds them and the Captain's rambling. 

“I wanted to be a pirate, when I was eight. I wanted nothing more than a ship under my feet and the wild open to explore and the stars to guide me home.” 

Whispered, so softly that the Commander knows the Captain must not intend it for him, he says, “I didn't think I'd ever get here.” 

It is a confession not meant for him, and so he does not answer it. 

But. 

Privately. 

He considers this one unshakable truth: He cannot imagine a universe where James T. Kirk did not take his place among the stars.

 

IV. 

_Vows_

 

The fourth time that he falls in love, they're on shore leave.

He spent six months positioning the ship, and making sure they were close to earth, six  _ months  _ saving up leave and putting his people off all for this.

Spock and Bones go with him. It’s not even strange, after two years on their five year mission. He thinks it might be strange if they weren’t there, two familiar shadows at his back. And sure, there’s probably things they want to do—especially Bones—but when he asked, they agreed, and he’s not gonna argue with them.

Jimmy Kirk never claimed to be anything but a selfish bastard, after all.

“I hate hospitals,” he mutters, glaring up at the building and Bones nudges him in the side. “These things tend to happen there.”

Jimmy gives the older man a brief, sour look, and then they’re inside, being shown to a waiting room.

He pouts as he sits. This is worse, he decides, than the last time Spock made him go on a diplomatic run with the Andorians. Well. Maybe not quite  _ that  _ bad, but it’s damn close. He rubs his hands on his pants, nervously. Bones at least is grumpy now, waiting at Jimmy’s side instead of being on the other side of those damn doors. He almost wants to tease his friend, but he refrains.

Spock sits, quiet and composed as ever, to his right, a grounding presence that he only vaguely acknowledges he is grateful for.

“Jimmy.”

The other man is taller than Jimmy by an inch, thicker with the weight of age, a little gray at the temples. But smiling, wide and tired. His brother, Jimmy realizes, looks old. When the hell did that happen, he wonders, wildly.  When he was running around the galaxy? How did he miss so much that the man he used to call his best friend is now almost a stranger.

Almost. Sam is smiling at him, a little bashful and proud, and that expression Jimmy does know.

“Sam,” Jimmy lurches to his feet, throwing his arms around his brother, and grinning wide. “Is he here? How is Aurelan? How's the baby?”

Sam laughs. “Christ, Jimmy, settle down. You can see him for yourself.”

His gaze skirts to the men behind his brother and Jimmy grins. “Leonard McCoy, my CMO. And Spock, my First.”

Sam nods once, not bothering to ask why his kid brother chose to bring his officers with him on shore leave. “Follow me. They've got him in the nursery so Aurelan can rest.”

“She ok?” Jimmy asks, a thread of nerves in the question and McCoy huffs.

“The woman had a child, boy. She's exhausted.”

Sam sends a quick grin at the doctor. “I like this one, Jimmy.”

He pouts, but then they're in the room and he makes a noise.

From the corner of his eye, he can see Spock, the way he jerks a little, his head swinging sharply to Jimmy, but he doesn’t really consider that.

All of his attention is glued to the tiny bundle Sam is carefully putting in his arms, and god, should he be this  _ small? _

Bones laughs, and his voice is softer than Jimmy has ever heard it. “Yeah. He’s perfect.”

Bones is right.

The baby is tiny, a barely there weight in his arms, pink skin and crinkled shut eyes.

It’s the kind of perfection, the kind of  _ right _ he’s only ever found on the Enterprise and in the vast empty stretches of space, or when he’s standing between the two men peering over his shoulders now.

The baby blinks up at him, a sleepy frown, and Jimmy is  _ gone. _ Lost. Head over heels in love with this tiny baby only hours old.

He smiles down at it and murmurs, “Hey Peter. I'm your Uncle Jimmy.”

The baby stares back, solemn and serious until his face screws up, unimpressed, and he flails one fist grumpily. and he shoots a wild grin at his friends, echoing Bones’ sentiment, “He’s fucking perfect.”

McCoy is smiling, softer than Jimmy has ever seen, and he nods, catching that tiny fist in one hand. He throws a look at Sam. “You did good work,” he congratulates the tired father, and Jimmy grins at his brother.

Bright eyes shift to Spock. “Gonna tell me how impossible it is for him to be perfect, Spock?” Jimmy teases, waiting to hear about the illogical nature of such a claim. Dark eyes study him for a long moment, and then flick to the baby, and something in him  _ softens.  _ Maybe no one else would ever see it. But Jimmy does.

His voice is very dry, but warm, when he says, “No, sir. He is, indeed, perfect.”

Jimmy blinks in surprise, and then he beams at his first officer, an expression Spock meets with that blank stare and warm eyes, before Jimmy turns his attention back to the baby.

“Perfect,” he whispers and Peter gives an impressive sneeze.

They stay for three days. Three days of snuggling the nephew who quickly gets used to an uncle who never wants to let him go. Three days of teasing his sister in law between spoiling her. Three days of giving Sam shit because that’s what younger brothers do, while Bones and Spock watch.

It’s the night before they return to the  _ Enterprise _ when Jimmy wanders downstairs, Peter fussing on his shoulder. He’s so tired he’s not sure how the hell he manages to get to the living room without tripping over his feet or dropping Peter, but he does manage and he sighs softly. Shushes the baby and pats his bottom gently, humming softly.

“Captain,” Spock says, and Jimmy let’s his head roll to the side to stare at his friend, sitting straight and familiar on his meditation mat.

“Sorry, Spock. We disturbing you?”

“Negative.” Spock answers, rising and hesitating before he moves to sit next to Jimmy and the baby.

They’re quiet, Jimmy lost in watching Peter as he sucks furiously on a bottle. He already doesn’t want to leave. Already wants to stand in front of this baby and make sure that nothing ever hurts him.

The thought of that stings, actually makes his chest ache and his grip tightens a little, until Peter makes a quiet mewl of discontent and Jimmy relaxes, soothing him.

He looks up at Spock, not terribly surprised to find the Vulcan watching him with curious dark eyes. “Nothing is gonna hurt him. Not ever.”

The words are fierce, a promise, and Spock considers him. For a moment, Jimmy is sure he’ll argue with the illogical promise.  

But as is often the case, Spock surprises him. He nods once.

“We will ensure he is safe.”

It settles something in Jimmy, and still, he presses, feeling impossibly young as he sits next to his best friend with a baby he loves in his arms. “Always?”

And for the second time that night, Spock gives way to the illogic of his captain. His lips twitch in the almost expression he reserves for the other man, the one Jimmy knows is a smile.

The one that he fights hard for, each and every time it appears. Spock touches Peter’s head, softly, too softly to disturb the baby, and says, his expression gentle,  “Always.”

 

V. 

**The Scientist**

 

Spock, irrationally, dislikes Carol Marcus. 

He dislikes the way she is on the  _ Enterprise,  _ unneeded and intrusive. He dislikes the way she smiles a little tentatively, unsure of her welcome. He dislikes the way she is  _ good _ at her job, her mind lightening quick. 

He dislikes the way the crew of the  _ Enterprise  _ seems to not just tolerate her, but  _ likes  _ her. 

He dislikes, the most, the way Jim is with her. 

He has seen this before. The softness in him, the way his lips tip into a smile that seems unconscious and unassuming, his bright eyes softening as he talks to the science officer. 

It leaves Spock unsettled. 

He realizes it before Jim. It's there in the way he finds time to be with the woman, in the way he listens to her and watches her, the laugh he gives her, the preference for her company that doesn't exclude others but doesn't invite them either. It's there in the way he brightens when he sees her and the softness when he says her name and the way he fights to keep her on the  _ Enterprise,  _ despite the illogic of it. 

He realizes it long before Jim. 

It's only after Carol is gone, on another ship, another mission, that Jim realizes it at all. They're playing chess, and he's drinking while Spock sips a steaming cup of tea, huddling in the layers of sweaters and the warmth of his drink to combat the chill of Jim’s quarters. 

“Have you ever been in love, Spock?” 

He stills and considers the question. “I do not believe I have. I was...bonded. Once. But I did not love her.”

“Don't fall in love. It never goes well,” he says, into his brandy. 

Spock hesitates and then, “You speak of Dr. Marcus.” 

Jim looks, for a moment, stricken. And then it's gone, that flash of pain. 

(He dislikes her because Jim is hurting and she is at fault. Spock knows it is not her fault and still, he blames her.) 

“I knew better. You don't fall for someone in the ‘fleet. Duty always takes them somewhere else. I learned that with Mitchell.” 

Spock is silent and Jim flashes a smile. “I'm used to it. To people I love leaving me.” 

“Jim,” Spock begins and Jim waves a hand. Dismissing him. 

“Don't. It's fine,” he flashes a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, that begins a small ache in Spock's chest that makes no sense. 

His smile is a lie, and it hurts to see. 

But Jim so rarely asks for things and he is willing to give him anything, so he nods and they finish the game, until he tips his king to Jim’s quick attack, and it earns him a bright laugh that doesn't match his dark mood. 

Carol Marcus, he considers, might be a brilliant scientist, but he would never understand what could possibly entice her away from the  _ Enterprise.  _

Away from Jim. 

As he stands and readies to leave, tucking away the chessboard, he hesitates, until Jim is watching him with patient curiosity. 

“Spock?” He prompts.

Nerves, unexpected, stir in his gut, and he struggles for control of his feelings while Jim watched him patiently. Waiting. 

A tiny smile on his lips. 

“Not everyone leaves, Jim. I will not leave.” 

Jim sucks in a breath, his eyes very wide and it feels like the promise he made over a tiny, newborn Peter a year ago. 

He inclines his head, and retreats. 

& I 

**_T’hy’la_ **

 

Spock realizes, halfway through the third year on the  _ Enterprise,  _ that he likes it.

He joined Starfleet out of anger and the need to leave Vulcan behind—an illogical choice but not one he regretted, until he stood on a transporter pad, and felt his planet die, and even that did not compare to the wrenching loss of losing his mother.

He left home, left the world where he did not belong and when that world died, he almost— _ almost— _ returned.

Earth was not quite right either. It was, he found, a strange and lonely place.

But the  _ Enterprise. _

Fits.

It is strange (and illogical) to think of something so temporal as solid. But he understands life there. He understands that the people on the ship, the crew, are like him.

They did not belong either.

Three years into the five year mission, and he realizes that the life he has built on a spaceship is the life he wants. He is, unexpectedly, happy here. There are colleagues he admires, even the Doctor who he feels something approaching fondness for. And there is the kindred soul that he finds in a man who smiles from the center chair, cocky assurance and moments of deep uncertainty.

A man who is so different it is sometimes frustrating, and yet...Starfleet expects Spock to limit him. To restrain his wildness. Neither of them—no one—expects that Spock will see a part of himself in the other man.

“It’s easy, Spock,” James said. That’s what he said, and everything about the mission agreed.

The  _ Enterprise _ was escorting medicinal supplies to a Tholian colony on the edges of the neutral zone. It was supposed to be a quick run, before the ship was due for refits at Starbase 10.

James grinned at him from the transporter pad, and dematerialized in a wash of blue and Spock was left in command of the  _ Enterprise _ with a growing sense of unease.

Away missions never go well when James Kirk is involved. It’s something Spock learned quickly—by his calculations, the presence of James on an away mission increased the likelihood of injuries by seventy eight point six five nine percent.

It increased the likelihood of a diplomatic incident even further.

Nyota assured him that even James could not find trouble in this situation, and Spock chose to believe her.

It was when the Tholians tried to herd the away team from the landing zone that things went wrong.

It was, as James would say--has said--a shitshow.

The Tholians were chattering away, too fast for the Universal Translator, and Nyota was scrambling to keep up with them, her eyes widening.

James was demurring, insisting that they were fine, would return to the ship.

Spock, trapped on the bridge, listened as the situation devolved.

It was fascinating and utterly predictable how  _ fast _ it goes wrong.

“Spock!” James is shouting into the communicator. “No, I really don’t think we should go with you.” That must be to the Tholians.

“Captain, do not enter the colony. The –“

“Plague, yeah, Spock, I know. I’m trying.” James sounds more annoyed than angry and that eases something in Spock’s chest that he chooses not to think about.

And then a phaser fires.

“ _ Fuck! _ Don’t fire, don’t fucking fire!” James is shouting, and Spock tenses in the chair, leaning forward.

“Lt. Uhura, on screen,” Spock orders and then it’s there.

James in command gold, arms spread, yelling at a red-shirt ensign while Sulu hovers protectively. The Tholians shifting angrily, hissing and –

“Shit,” Uhura breathes, and then, sharply, “Commander, get them  _ out. _ ”

Three years of trusting Uhura and her impeccable read of body language makes the decision a simple one. “Mr. Chekov, beam up the away team.”

Sulu shouts something he doesn’t actually understand, because his vision is eclipsed by the Tholian breaking rank, lunging forward.

Lunging at James’ unprotected back.

He does hear the shocked, punched out noise James makes.

“ _ McCoy to the transporter!”  _ Spock orders coolly. “Mr. Scot, you have the conn.”

The away team vanishes and Spock steps into the turbolift.

He runs.

The transporter room is chaos, Sulu shoving an ensign into the wall, and Chekov looking pale and sick.

“Get him to the brig,” Spock snaps at Sulu, and then he focuses on James.

He’s coughing, choking on blood, and his bright eyes roll up to Spock. “Not so easy, I guess.” He gasps. Spock almost snarls, but then Dr. McCoy is there and James is convulsing on the transporter pad, and there is so much blood, it doesn’t seem  _ possible _ for there to be so much blood….

“Dammit,” McCoy growls, working with a single-minded desperation that made Spock very cold because when McCoy quit complaining, quit spewing curses and threats, that is when things are at their very worst. When he looks up, he meets Spock’s eyes for a fraction of a second, bleak, before he orders, “Get him into surgery!”

The med team that has been moving around Spock, assisting McCoy lurches into motion, racing through the halls, James held carefully between them. Spock runs behind, desperate to keep James in his sight.

Dr. McCoy threatening to sedate him and yelling about compromising James is all that kept him from bursting into the surgery suite.

James is sleeping now, safe, next to him on a biobed.

He will be, if Dr. McCoy is to be believed, fine.

And Spock refuses to leave him.

Away missions, Spock thinks, should be prohibited. He wonders if he  _ can _ prohibit James from going on them. He is the First Officer, it is his duty to advise, surely he can simply advise James to always remain on the  _ Enterprise. _

He can stay where it is safe and Spock will face whatever danger the mission posed. The Federation will be pleased—Spock manages far less diplomatic incidents than James.

On the bed, he shifts, a pained noise caught in his throat and Spock considers him.

When did this ridiculous, illogical human become so important to him? Was it that day, on the bridge, when he saw how far James would go to protect his crew? Was it when they sat and watched the stars, and Spock watched him fall in love? Or was it the long slide of years of friendship, of chess games and meals shared, and arguing about decisions while McCoy watched them.

When did he stop respecting the man he called captain and began to care for the friend he called James?

“Sir.”

Spock looks up, away from the biobed. Sulu is standing there, looking nervous and still angry. “The incident report. Ensign Ramirez has been placed in the brig.”

Spock nods his thanks and takes the padd from Sulu. He hesitates a moment and then, “Sir, it was an accident. Ramirez shouldn’t have fired—the Tholians were aggressive, but they weren’t hostile. This—it shouldn’t have happened.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Spock says quietly and Sulu makes a quick retreat.

The part that disturbs Spock is that it  _ was  _ an accident. An accident that is like too many, and James is always caught in the cross fire.

How many times has he sat here, watching silently for James to wake up? (Eighty seven. In three years. A ridiculous number.)

Humans, Spock decides, are too fragile. How did Sarek cope with it with his mother, loving someone so terrifyingly fra--

He goes very still, his breath caught. Processes that thought and why it would occur to him, now.

“I love you,” he murmurs, testing the words. It is the only logical explanation and saying it, the words lingering in the air between him and the sleeping James, uncurls something warm and sweet in his chest. He says them again, just as soft, but stronger. “I love you.”

It is like a truth he had not realized, a discovery first found. Fascinating and wondrous. He wants, badly, to parse it apart, examine it.

“You picked a hell of a time to tell me,” James groans from the bed, and Spock jerks in his chair, a green flush working it's way up his cheeks and coloring his ears.

James stares, sleepy and delighted. “Been waiting for you to figure it out for a while.”

“James,” Spock begins and his eyes widens just a little.

“I love you too,” James offers, before Spock can decide  _ what _ should be said next.

And that shocks him into silence.

He has watched James, falling in love and the sometimes ugly aftermath.

But he has never once considered that James could love  _ him. _

“C’mere,” James says and it doesn't occur to Spock to disobey.

When James gives an order, even gentle as this, it is instinctual to obey.

James pulls him close and kisses him and Spock gasps.

It is, all told, a chaste kiss. A brush of lips, the barest hint of James’ tongue against Spock's, the promise of more before James falls back into the bed. He catches Spock's hand, and tangles their fingers and drags the other hand to his face. Spock stares at him, wide eyed and startled, and James nods.

Fingers shake as he fits them to James’ psi-points, and murmurs, “My thoughts to your thoughts.”

A web of gleaming black beckons, and Spock is gone.

Lost.

Consumed.

_ He sees himself, intent at his station, and almost smiling on the observation deck. Wide eyed and wondrous on away missions, cold and imperious when things go wrong. Terrifying the crew, and gently guiding a young ensign in the science labs. Holding Peter with startling ease and infinite care, all of that Vulcan strength held at bay by a tiny hand wrapped in science blues. _

_ Making a promise of always, and it shouldn’t matter, it shouldn’t, but this is  _ Spock _ and he doesn’t promise things unless he means them. _

_ Maybe. Maybe he will stay. _

_ They're sparring, playing chess, arguing, and you’re laughing, teasing the Doctor while Spock gives you a disapproving frown, facing down the Admiralty with Spock at your shoulder, exploring the galaxy, staring into the void of space. Telling him about growing up watching the stars, and he doesn’t laugh, doesn’t tell you it’s illogical, just stares at you with those big brown eyes that are so warm—how did you ever think he was cold? _

_ You are in your cabin and he is promising to never leave and you _ believe  _ it, because he would never lie, Spock  _ can't _ lie. _

_ You are in bed and panting, desperate for Spock's touch, groaning into the sheets as you pleasure yourself and long for the Vulcan. _

_ You are on the  _ Farragut  _ and Mitchell is watching you, hungry and cruel and Spock is at your side, solid and steady and comforting, keeping you calm and safe. Drawing you away from the past with a promise of a future. _

_ You are on the  _ Enterprise _ and he is criticizing your dinner choices, and you realize it, over fucking lasagna, of all things, and you stare at him while he talks about the dangers of inadequate nutrition and when you grin at him, he pauses, a frown tilting those damn eyebrows, and no one else has ever felt like  _ home _ the way Spock does. _

_ There is laughter in the Vulcan that you love to tease out, a gradual softening that you knows. A comfort as he sits in his Vulcan sweater and speaks of home, offers his past to sooth you. A warmth he can recognize without Spock ever saying a word. A rightness that calls to you both. _

_ You are willing to wait. _

Spock jerks away, gasping and shaking. “ _ T’hy’la.” _

James hums an agreement, hooking his fingers into Spock's sleeve and tugging him closer.

“You knew,” Spock says, faintly accusing and James laughs. The sound puffs against Spock's lips.

“It's only fair. You've always known when I was in love.” James murmurs against his mouth and Spock groans before he kisses him again, harder, demanding. A promise made in that press of tongue and teeth, a vow given in the gentle scrape of James’ nails over Spock's skull, a quiet bond building between them with each touch and desperately whispered, “ _ James.” _

When McCoy checks on James, later, he isn't at all surprised to find Spock in the biobed, James curled against his chest, one hand splayed over Spock’s chest, fingers digging in.

He smiles and leaves them there, together.

 

.0

_ James T. Kirk is many things. The youngest Captain in the ‘fleet, a dreamer, illogical, self destructive and slightly broken. He's brilliant and giving and has, over his short life, fallen in love more than his First Officer likes to consider. And he is, unequivocally, in love. Lost. Completely gone on the quiet, logically Vulcan who stands at his side, like he has always been there.  _

_ And always will be.  _

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to Catchclaw for the fantastic beta. <3


End file.
